Page 74 of The Bratva’s Stalked Pregnant Bride

“Okay,” I said meekly. “Um, now what?”

He looked me up and down, nodding in approval at what I was wearing. “Now you come with me.”

“I don’t suppose I have a choice?”

“Come with me and tell me when we get there,” he said, not giving anything away.

We got in the car, just Mik and me, no driver or security, and it wasn’t long before I was pretty sure where we were going. He pulled up to the restaurant, which was locked up and deserted, a few hearty weeds already springing up in the cracks around the sidewalk in front.

It hurt my heart almost as much as the thought of losing him for good when I thought Rand was going to get the drop on him and plunge a knife into his chest. Before we got out of the car, I looked at him questioningly. What were we doing here?

“Come on,” he said, all business. “We have a restaurant to open, and you don’t need me to tell you how far behind we are.”

He was halfway to the door by the time I caught up, sputtering. Calmly unlocking the door, he poked his head in, snapping on the chandeliers and giving the place a quick look around before escorting me in. Could never be too careful, I supposed, even if Rand wasn’t a threat anymore. There were still those shadowy bosses that Bandana Boy hoped to turn Mik over to for a hefty reward.

“Does this mean I still have a job?” I asked sarcastically, eyes glued to him, though I wanted to rush and check on my wine cellar.

“Of course,” he said, still nothing but business. “You’re the best.”

Instead of a flood of relief, there was a tidal wave of anger. “Is this it then?” I asked. “This is all we have left? You’re just giving up like this?”

In a moment, I was in his arms, pressed flush against his rock-hard chest. He tugged on my ponytail and kissed me hard. I grabbed his shoulders, but did I want to hold on or shove him away? His hands drifted down my back, and the pressure of his lips softened.

“Laurel,” he said, pulling me closer.

There was so much in that one quiet murmur. So many questions answered and fears laid to rest. I wrapped my arms around his neck and rose up on my toes with a sigh that mingled with one of his own.

He lifted me off my feet and carried me to the bar, right where it was supposed to be. He settled me on it, and leaned back, still holding onto me as if he couldn’t let go.

“We’re in this for the long haul,” he said. “You and me, running the restaurant, raising our kids—”

“Kids?” I interrupted.

“Tell me you only want one,” he challenged. I grabbed the sides of his face and kissed him again.

After a moment, he pulled back, searching my face with solemn eyes. “Tell me,” he said.

I shook my head. “You first.”

“I love you,” he answered instantly. “I can’t do this without you. None of it.”

“I guess you don’t have to,” I told him. He growled, tightening his grip on my hips. “I love you, too,” I said. “All of you.” He raised a skeptical brow, but I nodded vehemently. “All of you,” I repeated.

“I want to promise you the world,” he said. “I’ll give you everything I have. I can’t promise to stay out of fights, but I swear I’ll always keep you safe.”

I kissed him again, blinking back happy tears. “I know you will. And I promise to be right there at your side, shooting out kneecaps.”

His burst of laughter was sweet, and just like us, so very real.

Epilogue - Mikhail

One month later

After countless hours of grueling work, tenacity, bags and bags of money on advertising, the strength of the chef’s reputation, and my cousins’ connections, the grand opening of The Laurel Tree was finally happening. We started with two services, but so many important people wanted reservations that we added a third, finally having to tell some of LA’s food critics they’d have to come on another day.

Just that morning, I asked Laurel if she thought this day would ever come, and she told me the unbridled truth, which was what we most wanted from each other.

“No,” she said. “I thought you were going to cancel again when the bathroom tiles were the wrong color.”